Masquerade
by Karma Willow
Summary: He won't be told that he wouldn't last a day in the Slytherin world. He can. And he will throw away all of his inhibitions for one bloody, sexy night, to prove that he can survive in that world, and to gain the attention of his fantasy. (HD oneshot)


**Masquerade**

Rating: R for heavy sexuality

Warnings: Heavy sexuality, heavy slash, shades of sado-masochism, and bloodplay.

Disclaimer: Not mine. All JK Rowlings. Don't sue. Please?

Author's Note: Wow, where on earth did I get the idea for this bugger? xx; This is probably one of my weirdest fics yet. I think I like it though. It's not fluff. At all. So fluff-lovers, beware. It isn't angst, either. I can't classify it. Oo; Thanks to all my lovely betas, especially for putting up with my incessant nagging. ^^;

* * *

_Masquerade, seething shadows, breathing lies, masquerade. You can fool any friend who ever knew you._

A dusky and slender hand came to rest on cool glass, as a youth leaned against the reflective piece. Emerald eyes blinked serenely at the creature in the mirror, and the teen examined his half naked form in a calculating manner.

Tonight was the night.

And nothing, absolutely nothing could go wrong. The dark haired teen would make sure of that. His gaze once again met the eyes staring back at him from the mirror, darkened with the intensity of the moment. Tonight there would be no turning back. He would descend into the very underworld he had feared so much as a younger boy, if only for one night. For only one other youth on his mind, and his thoughts were soon lost, swirling in an incoherent mix of platinum and quicksilver.

And then the door burst open, and he was snapped out of his reverie. A bushy haired girl entered the room with large boxes of clothes and potions that, together, they had managed to accumulate for the very event he intended to go to. The youth smiled.

"Did you get everything, Hermione?" he asked, turning to face the girl. Her face was slightly red from the exertion as she tossed everything onto the bed, rifling through what she had found.

"Everything and then some," she said, grinning. "You'd be amazed at the kinds of clothes Seamus has. Lucky he was willing to donate to the cause." Harry smirked.

"The 'Get Harry Potter Laid Fund'?" he asked, cheek in his tone. Hermione couldn't restrain a giggle at that.

"If that's what you call it," she said, grinning at him. "After all, he's crashing the party too," she said. Harry frowned at that, eyes cast upward towards the darkened ceiling of his dormitory.

"I don't want him tagging along," he said quietly. Hermione snorted as she continued rifling through the clothes.

"Then tell him to bugger off," she said. "If he doesn't, hex him. Seamus isn't that dim. He'll get the hint," she said. Harry smiled slightly, calmed at that. He sat on the other side of the bed, quietly marvelling at the softness of the mattress underneath him as he watched Hermione look through the clothes. His mind began to wander.

He knew exactly what he was getting into. And of course, he was a little afraid. After all, he would be descending, alone, into a world so wildly unfamiliar to him. He wasn't naïve, but there was still so much that was new to him. And it was all for *him*.

How many times had Harry awakened from dark dreams and wild fantasies, pleasure and pain, lust and love? And through all that, there was the ever present blur of soft pale skin and narrowed silver eyes, a cruel smirk and a predatory cat's demeanor. He shivered in remembrance. He often cursed the dawn, waking him up from such dreams, however dark and strange. And now was his chance to live one. His last chance.

"I think I've found something," Hermione said, the smirk evident in her voice. Harry glanced up at her, only to be smacked in the face with a shirt. He peeled the cloth off, throwing a half hearted glare at the girl before examining it. It was a white sheen long-sleeved shirt, almost completely see-through, aside from the black vine patterns tracing the chest and the arms. Harry promptly turned red.

"I'll get molested!" he protested, looking wide-eyed. Hermione snorted again.

"Harry, you're seventeen, you're cute, and you're going into the heart of the dungeons to a den full of inebriated Slytherins. Molestation is inevitable. You can't go to the party if it freaks you out that much," she said, trailing off, and glancing at the now thoughtful Harry.

"Not now," he said after a short silence. "Not after all I've gone through," he said, glancing over at Hermione. Hermione shrugged and pulled out a pair of dress slacks.

"I'll show you mercy and not have you wear the leather trousers," she said, grinning. Harry looked scandalized.

"Seamus owns a pair of leather trousers?" he asked. At that, Hermione chuckled darkly.

"No, actually, I think I'll spare you of knowing who owns them. I needn't give you any more trauma than what tonight will inflict on you," she said, tossing the pair of dress slacks to Harry. The Gryffindor shucked off his pants and pulled on the slacks, and pulling the sheen shirt around his arms, buttoning up the middle. He glanced at himself in the mirror, slightly amused. 

"Surprisingly classy for being so exhibitionistic," he remarked, moving his arms to the side and moving his hips a little. He turned to Hermione, a slightly nervous grin on his face. "What d'you think?"

Hermione eyed Harry, as if evaluating him, and then grinned. "If that doesn't turn him on, then he's straight," she said, an air of smugness in her voice. Harry grinned at that.

"God forbid," he said, turning back to the mirror. He quietly admired his reflection as Hermione seemed to be digging through the boxes. He watched her idly from the mirror before turning to look at her. "What are you looking for?" he asked. Hermione surfaced from the piles of potions, clothing and gaudy halloween makeup, pulling some potions with her.

"The rest of your costume," she said, going up to Harry with the potions. She then handed him a small mask. Harry blinked, opening his mouth to speak, but she continued. "You're best off going incognito, at least at first. That way people don't know it's you, and you won't get the static you would probably get if you were still Harry Potter. You can let people in on your identity later," Harry nodded as Hermione dabbed at his scar with a potion-soaked tissue.

A comfortable silence fell between the two friends as Hermione concealed his scar, smoothed his showing skin, and colored his eyes. By the time she was done, Harry looked nothing short of the little imp he was dressing up to be. He turned from Hermione and looked in the mirror, grinning. Once emerald eyes were now red. And any inperfections on his skin were flawlessly covered with the concealer potion. He bit his lip to prevent the grin that threatened to show itself, turning to Hermione, who was again going through the boxes. He faltered and quirked an eyebrow.

"More stuff?" he asked, looking confused. Hermione emerged with an eyeliner pen, and a wicked smirk. He stepped back. "Is that makeup?" he asked incredulously. Hermione nodded.

"Trust me, Harry. A little of this stuff around your eyes will do loads of good for your image," she said, as she forced Harry to sit still and applied the eyeliner. Harry scowled, not liking the feeling of the cool paste-like substance being put so close to his eyes. It wasn't long after that Hermione decided that the final touch needed was to give the demon boy some claws and fangs. With a quick Engorgement charm to his nails and his canines, Harry's costume was done.

  
He stood at the door to the Gryffindor Common Room. It was already beyond 11:30, so most sane students were in bed. Hermione leaned against the doorframe, staring into the eerily serene red eyes of the imp that was once her best friend with a calm smile on her face.

"Just come back alive," she said, hints of both jest and seriousness in her voice. Harry nodded, before glancing down the corridor he had to take to get down into the dungeons. A wild thrill went through his chest, as a sick kind of fear weighed down his stomach. There was no turning back. He turned back to Hermione, a small smile on his face.

"I wish you were crashing it with me. You and Ron. Like the old days," he said, a slightly wistful smile on his face. Hermione grinned at that.

"Don't worry about us, Harry. I have plans for Ron. Besides, I think he'd throw a fit at the idea of going to something so... Slytherin-esque," she said. Harry nodded in understanding, before pulling her into a quick embrace.

"Thank you," he murmured, before releasing her, and disappearing into the shadows of the corridors. Hermione watched the spot where he had disappeared, an unreadable expression on her face.

"I meant what I said, Harry..." she murmured, a slightly worried look crossing her features. "Please come back alive..."

* * *

Harry had never been frightened of the dark. Living in a dusty cupboard for most of his life was to blame. He had come to accept the darkness as peaceful, and full of solace. The one time the Dursleys weren't around to make his life hell. He could almost say that he loved the dark.

But now, deep into the heart of the dungeons, he didn't love the dark quite so much. He knew what lay ahead of him. He knew he was throwing everything away in a reckless attempt to make his fantasies real. Bidding Hermione farewell felt so final to him, as if it would be his last goodbye. He drew in a shaky breath. He had laid his cards on the table. It was all or nothing, now.

'You wouldn't last a day in that snake pit,' Ron had once told him. 'I don't know for sure, but I've heard all kinds of stories. They're really creepy. It's nothing you want to be getting mixed up in...' Ron's voice trailed off in his mind as Harry grew slightly sullen. He could *too* survive a day in Slytherin. After all, wasn't that one of the reasons Harry was going through with the party?

But it wasn't just any party he was going to. It was possibly the most dangerous one that he could have picked. The Slytherins hosted a variety of different parties, each ranging from a tame get-together to an all out booze-fest. The ones that produced the horror stories that the Gryffindors circulated to keep a healthy fear of the Slytherins. The Halloween Masquerade, despite its tasteful name, was so far from it that it was laughable.

Harry knew all of this. He had heard the horror stories, time and time again. He was told by Ron and Draco alike that he would never make it in that kind of world. But he wouldn't stand for that. He wouldn't be denied simply because they thought they knew him. He looked at the small mask in his hand, before carefully pulling over his face. He felt a wave of safety go over him. He had something to hide behind. He smiled slightly. Maybe tonight wasn't going to be as hard as he thought it would.

  
He knew he was close. A strong bass thrummed along the corridors, shaking up his insides, and making his heart beat at the pace of the rhythm. He vaguely wondered if Snape ever heard it and found out about the party, but then again, considering the way he favored the Slytherins, he wouldn't be surprised if the Slytherin Head of House turned a blind eye on the event. 

Another wild thrill surged through him and he tried to look at the ceiling to calm himself down. Being giddy and nervous wouldn't do at all. Not in there. He needed to be calm, cool, and collected. It determined whether he'd be prey or predator, and he was not going to let himself be prey. Not this time.

'Throw your fears aside, Harry,' he told himself. 'This is not the time, nor place for them. Your last chance...' He sighed at that, looking down. 'You can do this...' he thought, a final attempt to get himself to listen. It worked, as he tensed, he felt a wave of determination hit him, and a slow, lazy smirk cross his features. He could make it. He *would.* And he quickly decided to use anything under his belt to make sure of it. 

* * *

The knock seemed to echo all throughout the corridor, and Harry put his weight on one leg, crossing his arms over his chest. The door slid open, revealing a rather drunk looking Slytherin. He could hear the music clearly now, and the bass was loud enough to knock him off his feet. The Slytherin eyed him, as if trying to recognize him.

"You got an invite?" he asked, voice slightly slurred. Harry lifted his mask a little to show that he was raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice surprisingly cool. "I needed one?" he asked, seeing the Slytherin suck in a breath as he got a better look at him. Harry couldn't keep the slight smirk off his face. 

"Not... immediately..." he managed, moving aside to let Harry in. Harry put the mask over his face again and stared at the room.

The room was almost too dark to see in, and multicolored strobe lights provided the only fast moving source of sight in the room. It was hot, and the room smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. Surrounding the center dance floor were chairs and tables containing a wide array of drinks, ranging from beer and Firewhiskey to vodka and wine. Very few people were sitting out, and most of them were having a drink. Almost everyone was in the center, dancing in what seemed to be a massive . Harry could barely hear anything over the loud music coming from the huge speakers in the front, and what little human noise he did hear were voices laced with ecstasy, punctuated with crude language. 

Bodies pressed closely against other bodies, rubbing and grinding in heated lust. The bolder of the females went topless, while the others were almost as exposed. The music was low and rhythmic, relying heavily on the bass sound, with the occasional sounds of guitars. The room itself was a wide low-ceilinged room that could very well have been the common room, if Harry could have seen it properly. Stone walls surrounded them, and it was the very picture of the snake pit of the stories. Said stories hadn't lied, nor exhaggerated. But Harry didn't find himself afraid. He felt quite the opposite.

He made his way through the orgasmic throng and paused at one of the tables to get an outside view of things. Adrenaline surged through him, making him nearly giddy with excessive energy. He leaned against the edge of the table, watching the others dance. It was almost like it was a single mass moving in a frenzy to the music. He chuckled darkly, knowing that half of them probably were having sex as opposed to dancing, and then paused, slightly surprised at himself from that thought. Another smirk made its way to his lips as he realized it wasn't quite so hard for him to fit into this world.

  
"What a grand party!" came the overly extravagant voice of Blaise Zabini as he nearly collapsed into the seat next to his blond-haired companion. They both remained silent for a moment, watching the people on the dance floor. "The best yet," he said, voice lower. "And believe me, I've been to a few," he added with a wink. Draco grinned at that, taking a final swig of the bottle in his hand before throwing it at the wall, shattering the bottle into pieces.

"Ahh, I love the sound of breaking glass," he said, laughing and lounging back in the chair. Blaise draped an arm over his chair and leaned his chin on it.

"The only sound better is glass breaking on skin," he purred. Draco grinned wolfishly at the boy.

"You're a sadist, Zabini," he remarked, reaching over and pulling another bottle off the table.

"And you're a masochist," Blaise countered, smirking. "The whole school knows it." Draco waved a hand dismissively, before popping open the bottle and taking another drink.

"At least the party is Gryffindor-free," he remarked, having a bit more trouble talking with all the alcohol. Blaise grinned slightly.

"You never know, love. Besides, they do make good sport when they manage to crash the party," he added. Draco snorted.

"With a Gryffindor?" he asked, gesticulating drunkenly for effect. "Honestly, they're good-two shoes. You'll never get one in bed. And if you do, the sex will be awful," he said. "Gryffindors with their purity and nobility," he said, disdain in his voice. "Buggers probably haven't gotten laid once in their lives," he said, leaning back.

"But they're virgins, Draco," Blaise insisted. "It's a novelty thing," he said. Draco scoffed and fell silent.

An amiable silence fell between them, as Draco took a few more swigs of his drink before getting bored with it and tossing it at the wall again. He had a smug looking grin on his face as he heard the bottle shatter. Blaise watched him in idle amusement until something caught his eye. He let out an undignified squeal and scrambled off his chair. "Speaking of virgin novelties!" he said, spotting a certain sandy haired Gryffindor. "See ya, Draco!" he called before making his way over to the Gryffindor. Draco snickered at the two, before returning his attention to the crowd.

  
After having a drink of some of the possibly toxic alcohol at the table, Harry scouted the room, looking for his prey. The drink did wonders for the once passive Gryffindor, whose entire stance now screamed 'predator'. A smirk played upon his pale lips, lit only by the strobe lights in the room. Like a cat, he snuck along the walls, scanning the drunken wallflowers for the boy he wanted. His eyes then fell on the blond hair and silver eyes he had seen so often in his dreams. With a grin, he danced out of the boy's peripheral vision and came up to his seat from behind, wrapping slender arms around the boy's neck. Draco jumped and attempted to whirl around to see who had put their arms around him, but his captor held him fast.

"Is the serpent king without a partner?" Harry asked, sweet innocence laced with a deadly toxin. Draco shivered at the voice. "Come along, now. You are the life of the party!" he added, dancing into the Slytherin's view, and extending a hand to him. Draco stared up at the masked imp before him, unnerved, fascinated and aroused all at once. All that could be seen of the boy's face were pale lips and a soft angled chin. The rest was hidden by the mask. But his silent admiration of the other boy was cut short by his voice sounding again, the innocent mask dropped. "Come to me, king of serpents. I am darkness, and I can show you what you desire," he murmured, leaning closer to the blond. Draco smirked at that, taking his hand. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself being dragged out to the floor, and pulled close against the other boy. He drew in a sharp breath, not quite ready for the sudden contact. This didn't seem to affect the imp, who merely leered at him, before beginning to move against him to the music.

The pulsing rhythm determined the movements, fast, sensual, and they didn't linger in one spot for too long. Hips meeting hips, chests against chests, and arms moving to the rhythm, exploring and keeping in pace with the beat at the same time.

"Tell me," Draco managed as they danced, voice breathless. "Who are you?" he asked. Harry grinned at that.

"I told you, I am the darkness. And tell me, serpent king, who are you?" he returned. Draco would have had no problem announcing his full name and his lineage, had the imp not chosen that moment to thrust his hips against his own. Draco opened his mouth to speak or moan, he wasn't sure which, when the boy cut him off again. "I can guess who you are," he said, placing a finger to Draco's lips. "You are the night, and the sinful desires that it encompasses," he said, smirking. Draco looked mildly taken aback, before smirking himself, not one to be outdone.

"Then you know that the night and the darkness are lovers," he remarked. At that, Harry chuckled.

"But of course," he said, moving gracefully out of Draco's arms with a smirk. Draco, thoroughly turned on, was not prepared to let the boy leave too early. He took the imp's wrist and twirled him back into position, before they continued their erotic dance.

"I have yet to learn who you actually are. What lies under that mask?" he asked, moving a hand to remove it. Harry giggled mischieviously and swatted his hand away.

"Play by the rules, naughty king," he said, grinning. "After all, one never removes one's mask in a masquerade," he said. Draco smirked.

"This isn't any masquerade, boy. I think you aren't aware of what you've gotten yourself into," he sneered, letting go and stepping back. Harry's eyes darkened slightly, and Draco felt chills go down his spine.

"Ah," he said, voice laced with venom again. "But I think I know just as much as you, good king," he said, gently laying a clawed finger against Draco's collar bone. "If not more," he hissed, bringing his finger down, and tearing through the cloth of Draco's shirt, and some of the skin. Draco sucked in a breath through his teeth, throwing his head back, and closing his eyes.

His instinct was to take another step back, but Draco refused to be intimidated by this obviously sexual creature. Shivers of pleasure and jolts of pain went through him, as he looked down, noticing that the boy's claw had drawn a thin line of blood down his chest. He looked back at the demon-boy, who wore a come-hither smirk.

"Come back to me, serpent king. I don't bite..." he said softly. "Hard..." he added, grinning wickedly, and exposing his enlarged canines. Draco stared for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before smirking, and moving back into the boy's arms.

The two didn't speak as the song changed, and Harry felt it was getting too quiet. With an evil smirk, he brushed his lips along a bare spot on Draco's shoulder before biting the spot hard enough to draw blood and another gasp from the blond. He lapped at the spot, earning a shudder, and pulled up to smirk at the Slytherin, enjoying being the one in control. Draco had his eyes closed, as if relishing the sensation. He then opened his eyes, and eyed a spot on Harry's lips as the two continued to dance. Without warning, he leaned forward, and licked the spot of blood that was on the imp's lips off. Using the distraction, he yanked the mask off the boy, and pulled back to see who his mysterious partner was.

Harry pulled back, staring at the now stunned Draco. Draco stepped back, staring at the now obvious Gryffindor standing before him, looking at him with such an intense stare that he thought the boy was staring holes into him. "P-Potter?!" he managed, saying the name partially with surprise, and another emotion Harry couldn't quite place. A slight smirk came over Harry's lips, and he stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Draco and yanking him against him, crushing their lips together in a rough, awkward, and desperate kiss. Draco froze in Harry's arms, as the other boy pried his mouth open with his tongue and invaded his mouth. He was aware of a coppery taste, the mix of his own and Harry's blood, and realized he hadn't tasted anything quite so good in his life. He moaned into the almost painful kiss, but it was over before Draco could respond. Harry stepped back, face flushed, and a mischievious smirk on his lips, red and glistening with fresh blood.

"Come on, serpent king. Play with me. If you dare," he said, before turning and running. Draco stood and stared for a moment, before picking up on the challenge. He smirked.

"Oh, I dare, Potter," he murmured, touching his bleeding lips before taking off after Harry.

* * *

The only sounds in the corridor were the steady clicks of feet hitting the stone, as two boys barreled across Hogwarts, one intent on escape, the other on pursuit. Both aware of their hearts pounding in their ears, and other areas throbbing almost painfully with a desperate need.

The predator kept close behind his prey, determined not to let such a catch get away. The two were oblivious to all but one another, as the pleasant sensation of pleasure and alcohol burned their blood and made them sweat with effort and arousal without even touching. 

In and out, winding around the corridors, seemingly getting hopelessly lost in the twisted labyrinth of halls and endless stone walls. And still the chase continued.

Needless to say, the hunted was extremely pleased with the results, thrills going through him at the idea of the determined blond catching him. He knew of only one place they could go without being interrupted. While he was willing to descend into the lair of the Slytherins for a party, he knew sleeping there would be a fatal mistake, and he knew he wouldn't be in much of a position to leave after they were finished.

At that, a jab of unhappiness went through him, that they would probably be nothing more than a one-night stand, a product of teenage lust and hormones pent up far too long. Harry shook his head at that, clearing his thoughts. 'This is what you bargained for,' he reminded himself, his mind's voice even a little slurred and fuzzy from the alcohol. 'One night...'

  
'A bed. That's all I need,' Harry thought to himself as he neared the room that would grant his every wish, his muscles beginning to burn with the effort of keeping his speed. He glanced behind him, pleased to see that Draco was huffing just like he was. 'All right, a nice one, for his sake,' he added, before stopping in front of the door and throwing it open, before disappearing inside. He closed the door behind him, and held it for a bit, pleased to hear the knob rattle around as Draco attempted to open it. He decided to stop teasing and let go of the knob, stepping back, and successfully falling backward on the bed with a soft yelp. The door burst open, and Harry bolted upright, drawing his legs up. The blond predator stared at the picture his quarry made, flushed face, tousled hair, and giving him an inviting smirk. Growling slightly, the blond pushed the door closed. The chase had gone on long enough.

He pounced on Harry, pressing against the smaller boy as his lips attacked the imp's neck. Harry let out a soft gasp, feeling Draco bite down on the spots he kissed. He squirmed underneath the boy, trying to situate himself, revelling in the situation.

'I thought you weren't going to be prey this time...' a small voice in the back of his mind taunted. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he let out a gutteral growl, and flipped over so that he was on top of the surprised blond. With a predatory gleam in his eye, he clutched the fabric of Draco's shirt, lifting him into a bruising kiss, one that Draco readily responded to. "Not this time," Harry muttered, pulling away from Draco's mouth, and moving downward towards the boy's collar bone. He quickly decided that he liked the coppery taste in his mouth, and he liked the noises Draco made when he suckled on a wound he made even more. Clawed hands wandered over the thin cloth keeping his hands from feeling Draco's bare skin, and Harry quickly grew bored of ghosting his fingers over the boy. He lightly dug a claw in, just under the writhing blond's chest, and slowly brought his finger down, tearing through the cloth and the skin. He revelled in the sharp intake of breath, and leaned down, tearing the shirt away from the wound before running his tongue along the thin line that was the wound. He felt the boy shiver underneath him.

The feeling of being in control was intoxicating. Almost as intoxicating as the taste of Draco's blood, the smell of sweat, and the sight of Draco's flushed face, knowing that whatever the blond would say to the contrary, Harry had an effect on him. It empowered him. He finished the incision of the shirt, well aware that Draco was going to be angry at him later for ruining his shirt, and tossed the ripped cloth to the side, running his hands over the smooth pale skin offered to him. This wasn't at all like his dreams. This was better.

The teasing continued, slow and torturous, but Draco could do nothing. No one had ever skillfully combined the sensations of pain and pleasure into something that muddled Draco's mind quite so badly, and silenced his pride into a mere whisper of dissent. And all the while, Harry remained over him, clawing at him and lapping at the wounds as if the imp enjoyed the taste of his blood.

Teasing turned to passion, as their patience wore thin, and both tore at one another's clothes. They became desperate for closer contact, shredding the thin barriers in their way. Finally, suitably naked, Harry straddled the other boy's hips and leaned down, hands on the Slytherin's shoulders. His lips brushed against Draco's ear with a smirk, inwardly chuckling at the shiver that he received in response. "This time," he murmured, "I win."

Draco could only moan.

* * *

Darkness. A dreamless, peaceful darkness that had settled in soon after the rage of emotions and passions.

The placid sleeper was cruelly interrupted, however, by a stray beam of sun, coming in from a nearby window that Harry hadn't known was there. He forced his eyes shut even further, refusing to wake, not wanting to let go of the last few moments of peace before he had to face the inevitable. The hell that he had to pay for his moment of pleasure. A sliver of hope went through him as he reached out to the other side of the bed, patting the sheet to see if anyone else was under it. His hand only hit the mattress. His heart sunk again, and he rolled over so that his face was buried in the pillow.

"I knew it," he mumbled, muffled by the pillow. He made a loud groaning noise as he splayed his arms out, trying to collect his balance so he could get out of the blood and passion stained bed. His hand hit something that crinkled under his touch. His eyes narrowed. Mattresses didn't crinkle. He sat up, much faster than he normally would have and stared at the object his hand hit. A small piece of paper.

Hands trembling, he reached out and took the paper, unfolding it. Green eyes nervously scanned what was on it, and he felt another thrill surge through him. He recognized the handwriting, elegant and tall, every bit the scrawl of an aristocrat. But the words... Draco only needed four of them to convey so much.

"The game is on..."


End file.
